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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288401">Epitaph</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard'>draculard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Petunia Suppresses Her Feelings Like A Good Englishwoman, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:35:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>396</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23288401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Thought we might go to the churchyard today," Petunia said.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Petunia Evans Dursley &amp; Lily Evans Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>It's All in the Name (Take #1)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Epitaph</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts">reeby10</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Thought we might go to the churchyard today,” Petunia said over breakfast. Vernon’s gaze was fixed to the newspaper, his jaw working mechanically over the bacon. There was a bit of egg dangling from his moustache. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Churchyard?” he said eventually, mouth still full. “What churchyard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sink, a dishrag in one hand, Petunia looked out the window at their yard. “You know,” she said. “Godric’s Hollow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Godric’s Hol</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>” Partway through, he remembered where he’d heard those words before and choked on the rest of the sentence. Petunia glanced back, twisting the wedding ring around her finger, and caught him staring at her like she’d grown a second hand. After a moment, flummoxed, he looked down at his plate and took another bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to see her grave, is all,” Petunia said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a lovely day, though,” said Vernon, nodding toward the window. His free hand </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> the one without a fork in it </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> roamed back toward the daily and flipped automatically to the business section. “Don’t want to spend it moping about in the churchyard, do we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petunia said nothing. She fiddled with the faucet, adjusting the water temperature, and let the dishrag trail through the sink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fun at all for the boy,” Vernon said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dudley and Harry were both with Vernon’s mother for the day. They wouldn’t be back till late that night; Petunia chewed this over, considered pointing it out. She scrubbed absently at the pan she’d used to fry Vernon’s egg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it’s because it’s such a lovely day that I want to go,” she said eventually, talking more to the window </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> to the sunshine on their well-trimmed lawn </span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span> than to Vernon. “It’s how Lily would have wanted it, I suppose. Spring was her favorite season. All the flowers in bloom…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” said Vernon, “we’ll bring her some flowers next Sunday, how’s that, then? We’ll swing by after the morning service. Is that alright, darling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked out at the short-clipped grass. A dandelion was sprouting up at the edge of the yard. For a moment, she saw a yellow weed in Lily’s hand; for a moment, she felt the tickle of petals against her own chin, felt the dandelion leaving a buttery smear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard Lily giggle. She felt an ache in her chest like the ghost of a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew they wouldn’t visit the churchyard next week.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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